A mixed bag of babies and a blog

11/27/2010

Show me your eight teeth of joy

Dear Aja,

A year ago today you came home. Three months to the day after kicking your way out of my belly, you decided that you were strong enough to kick the nurses to the curb and remind your Daddy and I that waking up at 3am makes for an irrational human being.

You came home a fragile little newborn and showed us that true strength has nothing to do with the size of ones biceps or triceps. You could roll before you lifted your head. You cruised before you could sit up. I’m expecting that you may write your name before you can say mine.

You have taught Jocelyn what being a sister is all about—illustrating that the word “pest” is synonymous with “Aja,” but that a shared laugh can cure even the deepest hurt.

Your determination is legendary. If you saw a wire hanging from the roof you would certainly scale the building in an effort to suck it clean of grime. The fact that you cannot walk does not stop you from trying to climb, or clearing the bookshelves. I need to start giving you a duster to do double-duty.

Your favorite game is fort. Or food. And by food, I mean that you will eat anything. Except baby food in your high chair. Equally hated: your crib. There’s a passion to your hatred, as though it has scorned or betrayed you, and you want the world to know it the minute you crack an eye open and realize that mother has caged you, yet again.

You hold grudges. But you love completely. You have a smile that says: “I could bite you and you’ll still laugh with me before you cry.” I think it’s the underbite. Or the eight teeth. There’s power in that smile.

You make your Daddy and I proud everyday. And if this Thanksgiving is any indication, you are going to really impress the fellows when you get older.